Inevitable Exposure
by sophiedb
Summary: (Stargate SG1 - MacGyver): Hiding forever was never an option, not even for mini-Jack.
1. The Calm Before The Storm

Disclaimer: this is all a figment of my imagination, with certain key aspects supplied by older and richer people than myself.

A/N: Yes, this is where I have been frittering away my spare time before taking a zat to my "Giant Leap" writer's block. I will attempt to keep both stories straight in my head, and hopefully the variety will stop any more brick walls from forming!

* * *

Jon looked in the mirror and practiced his smile. It wasn't a good look. A poker face he could manage, sarcastic – definitely – but a fake smile? Nada. It looked exactly what it was: forced. He looked more and more like the self he remembered though: young and without the grey hair, but definitely _him_.

If tonight didn't go well, he could be out on his ear.

But, sighing, he decided that you had to be in it to win it! Not that he wanted to 'win' Lucy as such – hell, it'd been almost 4 years now and he _still_ had trouble getting used to the idea of dating someone born in the 80s – but she was the only person he'd met in that time who felt a hell of a lot older than they looked. In her case though, it was a side effect of having a Peace Corps mother who believed in taking her kid with her. Zaire, Angola, Mozambique, even Rwanda – if it was in sub-Saharan Africa, Lucy and her mom had probably been there… But Lucy had 'come home' to California a few years ago to gain some formal qualifications, and her mom had taken a job nearby when she began pre-med.

Jon had done a little background checking on Lucy when they'd first started seeing her (there's no such thing as too careful when you're the clone of the head of Homeworld Security), which had satisfied his Special Forces-trained need to be in the know, but it had made him feel a little dirty. Still, after four years as a youngster this was the closest he'd gotten to normality. High school had been pretty traumatic for a comeback 'kid' who didn't give two hoots about anything other than ice hockey and getting back in the Air Force (even the jocks hadn't liked him), and the USAF Academy had truly hated having a kid who'd once made Colonel on their books. Maybe that was why he'd been shipped to San Francisco for a year. The official reason was that he'd aced all his leadership and operational classes even when they bumped him up a year, but that he couldn't graduate without serving the full term of years. Unofficially he guessed that it was so the new head of the SGC didn't have to deal with him just yet.

Next year, next year. Not long before he could rejoin the bright blue puddle under the Mountain.

So here he was, at San Francisco State University, getting paid to take a Masters in Social Sciences (Interdisciplinary) while the higher ups figured out what to do with him. An O'Neill – sorry, a _Murphy_ – with a Masters? Jack must be having a real hard time from Carter about now. Daniel too, since his main focus was anthropology and international relations… with a little ancient history and GIS surveying thrown in cough Oh yeh, Jack was in for it. All those smart-ass comments and dumb-ass looks would be biting the old man on the ass.

"That was then, this is now, Murphy. Make the most of it," he reminded himself, almost tired of the joke-name he'd chosen for himself. Ok so it certainly fit, but it was getting old. Anything that can go wrong, can and will, especially if your name is (or was) Jack O'Neill, but even if all went well this time he'd still have to put up with being Jonathan Murphy for several more decades. And at least he wouldn't have to start out as a grunt this time. Times had changed, and so had he.

Which brought him right back to the present, and the Cassidy family barbeque.

Lucy had told him that her 'family' weren't exactly the run-of-the-mill kind, more like her mom's friends from years of travelling, and he'd replied that any kind would do. It must have been the right thing to say because she'd smiled oh so like Carter, but as far as he was concerned he had no family – real or adopted. The guy he'd been cloned from had now married the woman he'd loved for years, his old team-mates got really uncomfortable if he called, his ex-wife didn't know he existed, and his son… well best leave Charlie out of this. The irony of all this cloning was that he looked damned close to the age that Charlie would have been by now, but dwelling on it would only make him depressed.

Suddenly he grimaced at an unbidden mental image – Jack, Daniel, Teal'c and Carter 'interviewing' his girlfriend – then laughed. There couldn't possibly be a comparison. That's what he hoped anyway…

* * *

"Lucy, aren't you going to get a little more dressed up?" Jennifer Cassidy shook her head at her daughter with a small sigh of despair. Had she grown up so fast that she wasn't able to enjoy what was left of her childhood?

The young lady in question merely raised an eyebrow as she prepared kebabs for later on. "Mom, as I have said before – Jon is a friend. We see each other a lot, we even date, but at the moment this is still a casual relationship. Dressing up is not something that I have any wish to do. Period. And no Mom, I'm not going to wear any make-up either. You never do, so why are you so surprised that I don't want to?"

"Honey… when I think of the times I –"

"Mom, would you drop it please? I'm 20 years old, not an old maid, and –"

"You're beautiful just the way you are, lil sis!"

"Sam!" Lucy ran up to her big 'brother' and gave him a huge hug. "I didn't hear you come in – when did you arrive?"

"Not that long," he smiled, his eyes radiating the warmth he'd inherited from his father. "Hi Jen – it's been a while. Great to have you both in the country again!"

"Us? How about you!" Jen chimed accusingly before giving the young man a sound kiss on the cheek. "Have you won that Pulitzer yet? And where's your dad?"

"No, but I'm still trying; and picking up Pete – in that order. Ooh!"

Despite having not seen them for over two years, the Cassidys' guest quickly began to delve into the array of dishes they'd prepared… and Jen performed the matronly duty of swotting prying hands away. Lucy simply sat back on her stool and watched the show, suddenly realising how much she'd missed her old friend. They weren't related – far from it – but his dad and her mom had hooked up a while back and he'd taken on the role of occasional older brother. Their easy friendship had been mirrored by the fun their parents had together, but a mutual liking of life just the way it was had kept the two adults apart – no bad feelings, just goodwill and a never-ending 'see you next time'.

"So, I hear your boyfriend's coming today – want me to rough him up for you?"

Sam's voice broke into her thoughts, his grin contagious. Looking over his shoulder, Lucy saw her mom looking sly as she made some burgers, and she rolled her eyes. "Bro, he's fine – and as I told Mom we're taking it nice and easy. No roughing up required, and I'd be grateful if you could pass that message out to the rest of the guys too."

"You don't want us to check him out or anything?"

"SAM!" She protested, horrified at the thought. "Look, he's gotten through the Air Force Academy safely enough and as far as I can tell that means no skeletons the cupboard."

The young man's eyes narrowed. He'd been working as a journalist for several years now, and he hadn't always liked what he'd seen from the military – foreign or domestic. "You're dating a wannabe flyboy? Geez, dad's going to love that one."

"Kids – take it outside would you? You're damaging the salads."

"Yes, Mom."

"Sure, Jen."

The elder Ms Cassidy had a strange belief that arguing in front of a leafy salad would make it wilt – probably from the same superstitious grandmother who'd taught her to avoid ladders like the plague – and her nearest and dearest took it in their stride these days… even when it was an obvious ploy to get rid of them.

"So tell me all about him, Luce – and I promise not to go all protective on you," Sam said honestly as he balanced a few plates. "Wow, look at this. I hope your mom remembered there's a health-freak coming."

Lucy smiled. "There are samosas, roast vegetables, couscous, the usual – don't worry, no one's going to starve. And as for Jon, what do you want to know?"

The old friends carried on chatting as they laid the table, laughing at what each other had been up to and reminiscing about the trouble they'd gotten into back in Africa. Other guests arrived in twos and threes, and Sam often caught Lucy peeking at her watch as she ran between the various groups.

"Jon'll be here soon, sis," he assured her as she joined him by the grill. "Probably just nervous."

"I know," she grinned with a sudden twinkle in her eye. "There he is!"

Lucy ran down to the gate waving, and Sam's gaze followed her happy form before fixing on the young man she was meeting… then his jaw dropped. Two burgers caught fire before he came back to himself, attention still focussed on this Jon Murphy his 'little sister' was dating.

Suddenly he foisted the bbq tools on the nearest person available and ran to find his dad, Pete, Michael, anyone!

* * *

"Hey!"

"Hey yourself!" Jon replied, a goofy grin coming over his face. "How's the party going – I hope I'm not too late?"

Lucy finally stopped in front of him and gave him a warm hug. "The bbq's going well and no, you're not too late – any earlier and you might have been stolen away by my mom, or my 'brother' –"

"You have a brother!"

"Well not really," she carried on blithely, guiding them towards the main garden. "My mom and his dad are kinda close, so he looks out for me when he's in town. Anyway – he's busy with the bbq right now, Mom's being hostess-woman, and I think all the 'uncles' are talking shop…" Lucy looked around then suddenly stopped still, her eyes obviously searching for something in particular. "Actually, they've all vanished! Where the hell did they go?"

Jon felt his instincts kick into gear and hastily quashed them. This was a party, not an ambush – though he had to admit that in the back of his mind he'd already counted how many people there were and located each potential exit. He even knew that the guy at the barbeque had changed in the last couple of minutes. Some things you just couldn't turn off.

"No problem, Lucy – let's go see your mom, how's that?" He offered, figuring that the sooner this was over with the sooner he could have some fun. "Is she the gorgeous brunette over there?"

His girlfriend rolled her eyes, forgetting the missing men for a moment. "Yes, but watch the charm buddy. If I know you, she'll be eating out of your hand before she realises it, but there's a protective semi-boyfriend of hers lurking someplace."

"Let me guess, I have to win him over too?"

"Got it in one."

"Oy…"

"Mom!" Lucy yelled, then clasped his hand and dragged him over to where she was chatting to some old Peace Corps colleagues. "Mom – I'd like you to meet Jonathan Murphy."

"Just a second honey!" Jen called out, smiling. Finally the mystery man had arrived. She checked that her spread of food and drink could manage without a minder for a few minutes, wiped her hands on a teacloth looped in her belt and excused herself. "Doug, Margaret, I'll be back with you in a moment."

Time seemed to slow down.

It was one of Jon's greatest worries that he'd meet someone who knew him, or rather Jack. Plastic surgery had been offered, to make him look just that little bit different, but he'd decided that being 30-odd years younger would have to do. With or without surgery there was the potential for awkward questions, but so far he'd been lucky: everyone who 'knew' him, knew _about_ him too.

Except for this woman, and he didn't have a clue who she was… but those were definitely the goggle-eyes of the 'oh my God, is that _Jack!_' brigade. So who was she? Other than Lucy's mom, of course.

Suddenly Lucy's elbow jabbed Jon in the ribs, causing time to wound back up to its usual pace.

"Say something!" she hissed urgently, certain that this was a bad case of nerves on both parts.

Jon looked at her blankly, then blinked. Maybe it was a mistake… oh well. He held out his hand and put on some belated O'Neill/Murphy charm. "Erm, hi Ms Cassidy – it's great to finally meet you!"

The pair of them stood there while Jen took in the two big smiles, hopeful on both counts, wondering if she was imagining things. Such a familiar face… and they did say that girls looked for partners who were similar to their father figures… but this was almost too weird. For a moment there she thought he'd been thinking along similar lines – but – but –

"Call me Jen," Lucy's mom replied somewhat lamely, taking Jon's hand and pulling him into a brief hug. "Sorry, I…erm… I think this party must be talking some of my sanity with it. You… you look a lot like a friend of mine."

Aha! Jon thought quickly. A possible get-out clause! If she knew 'me', but not too well, I might be able to talk my way out of this with an 'Uncle Jack' trick.

"Apparently I look a lot like my uncle, maybe that's who you're thinking of," he countered easily, and much to the approval of a slightly disturbed Lucy. "Jack O'Neill?"

"Uh, no…"

* * *

Inside the house, a small argument raged.

"Sam, what's going on?"

"Dad, could you just trust me for a moment?"

"Kid, unlike yours my dad isn't too well and I'd rather he spent time at this party having fun – not getting dragged around because of one of your harebrained ideas!"

"Michael, calm down – I'm fine. Just need to sit down…"

"Sam…" his father replied warningly.

"Ok, ok!" The youngest of the four helped the eldest into a leather chair, then threw his hands up in frustration. "Take a look out of that window – what do you see?"

"A bbq? People enjoying themselves?" Michael said, a little unkindly. The two of them hadn't gotten along well since the first day they met, much to the chagrin of their fathers.

"Ha ha."

"Where should I be looking, son?"

Sam joined his father by the window, glad that at least one person was listening. "To the right, the guy with Lucy."

Pete chuckled in the corner. He was almost blind with glaucoma these days, and what freedom that hadn't taken the arthritis had, but he remained a good-natured, down to earth guy. "Jealous?"

"I don't think so old pal…" Sam's dad suddenly stood up a little straighter, maybe even shifted his position so he wouldn't be visible to the object of his observation. "What the…?"

"That's what I thought!"

"What? What!" Michael finally began to take notice. "Oh. He looks just like…"

"Exactly – oh." Sam replied pointedly. "He looks exactly like dad."

"Have you found another kid, kid?" Pete wheezed, still quick in his old age, and the only person to see the funny side.

"Cut it out everyone," the last man admonished them, pulling out a cell phone and speed dialling his office. "Hello? Hi Katie, listen – could you run a quick check for me? I'll pass you over to Sam for the details." He held out the phone. "You know more than me, son."

Nodding, Sam ran through what he knew about Lucy's boyfriend – information he'd only found out a half hour ago. His name, rough height, weight, schooling… anything that might help narrow the search. There were a few raised eyebrows when a place in Minnesota was mentioned, but when the result came it did mention shared ownership of a fishing cabin.

"Got him," Sam announced to the group, then returned to the phone. "Can you send a summary through, Katie? Thanks!"

Confused, he hung up and handed the XDA back to his dad. It was a cross between a normal cell phone and a PDA, equipped with a decryption key that would unlock whatever records Katie had found on 'Jonathan Murphy'.

Now it was a case of wait and see, then deciding what to do about it.

* * *

A/N: It's a little predictable, but let's play "guess the crossover!" Oh go on, it'd make my day… or review… anything… :) 


	2. Knocked For Six

Disclaimer: this is all a figment of my imagination, with certain key aspects supplied by older and richer people than myself.

Reviewers: thank you, thank you!

**Vinnet**,** Sadie**,** Dottid**,** daroos**,** Magda1**,** Malaskor**,** agirlfriday**,** Airam4u**,** Hecate**,** paula**, **FuFuMira**,** honor**,** Jordan**,** Mara Jade Jedi**,** bard2003**,** Vanessa**, **myeerah **& probably **Legend1957**: congrats! Yes, this is indeed a MacGyver crossover. There are obviously quite a few closet (or not so closet) RDA lovers out there :)

**The Sithspawn**,** WBH21C**,** Lorency**,** Nicola**, **Josh**, **paininthemikta** &** kala**: glad you liked it!

**kholly**: cheers for the comment – yep, I didn't want to give the game away too early so created a couple of extra characters and threw in some minor ones who already existed, which may be biting me on the bum.

**Mara Jade Jedi**: you know what, I have no idea whether Michael and Sam would get on (Sam only turned up in one episode after all), and… uh… no-one really mentioned their ages so I kinda guessed that bit based on how old Mac and Pete are. I don't like it when everyone's happy and friendly with everyone else though – life never seems to be like that, so I threw in a minor conflict :)

P.S. "Lucy" and "Jen" are just window-dressing for the moment, but they will have their uses later on. If either starts acting like soppy girlfriend or (heaven forbid) a Mary Sue, please slap me with a trout or something!

P.P.S. Original Jack and SG1 will be making a significant appearance, but this will be a mini-Jack & Mac story for the most part.

* * *

People laughed.

People talked.

People ate.

People drank.

People got nervous. At least, some of them did.

It was a party. A celebration of all kinds of things, but mostly a reunion of close friends. A time to have fun.

Or not.

* * *

A call from the kitchen had caused Jennifer Cassidy to leave her daughter and daughter's boyfriend alone, all three of them feeling troubled.

"What was that about…?" Lucy wondered aloud. "Mom looked so… shocked."

"Beats me," Jon replied helplessly. He'd thought he had a fair idea of what was going on, but now he wasn't too sure. There couldn't be another one, could there?

"I mean, you do look a lot like her on-off boyfriend –"

It was a struggle to keep panic out of his voice. "I do?"

"Yeh, in fact he's here someplace – one of the 'uncles' who vanished a few minutes ago…"

Lucy went back to scanning the garden for her mom's missing friends, mentioning how they'd known this guy since she was a little kid, while an ugly suspicion formed in Jon's mind. He couldn't figure out the hows or the whys, but maybe there was another double of Jack out there. Could it be Harlan's robot-Jack? But how would he get here? Had they invented a better battery pack?

He felt a hand clasp his.

"C'mon Jon, let's go inside," Lucy suggested brightly, pulling him in that direction. "There's some photos – take a look, see what you think. Maybe your uncle and Mac are related somehow – that would be so cool!"

"Mac?"

"Yeh, short for MacGyver – he won't tell anyone what his first name is, so we just call him Mac."

Jon stopped short, his memory working overtime. Mac. MacGyver. Hates his first name… Oh crap.

"Lucy!"

"Sam! Where've you been!" Lucy stopped in her tracks and totally forgot about the previous topic of conversation. Mac and his uncanny similarity to Jon could wait – right now she wanted her 'brother' to meet her boyfriend. "Sam Malloy, this is Jon Murphy."

Jon had a bad feeling about this guy straight away. He had a poker face on, even though he was smiling – in fact his smile was about as fake as Jon's own. Was someone here on to him _already?_ Worries pushed aside for the moment, he held a courteous hand out. "Hi, I've been hearing a lot about you."

"Likewise."

The tone was warning, and even Lucy picked it up. "Sam, I told you to be nice – remember?"

Turning his head, young Mr Malloy looked Jon square-on and searched his face for signs of unease. He found plenty, but his journalistic instincts backtracked – was that because he had something to hide, or because he was being confronted by his girlfriend's 'brother'? He decided on a course of action and shook the other guy's hand.

"Uh, yeh – sorry 'bout just then, I don't what came over me," he apologised blandly, before sidetracking the most vulnerable person in this situation. "Luce, I think your mom wants you to ask people if they need new drinks or something, is that ok?"

"Geez, you'd think it was a dinner party or something… ok – Jon?"

"I –"

"You could help me with the bbq if you like," Sam suggested with a definite tone of 'you _will_.' "I left the tools with a complete amateur."

Jon eyed up his sudden opponent. He looked vaguely familiar, but he still hadn't placed Sam in the scheme of things. What had Lucy said about him? That his dad and her mom were close, they were kinda like brother and sister… wait, this kid belonged to MacGyver! What about his name? There was only one way to find out, and this party was becoming more of a mission by the minute.

"Sure. I can do the manly 'open fire, raw meat' thing."

Lucy laughed, ignoring the underlying rancour in this exchange. As far as she was concerned this was just a male chest-beating exercise, and once these two got to know each other they'd be best buds. She was sure of it.

Giving Jon a quick peck on the lips, she left them to it. "Ok boys, I'll see you in 10. Play nicely, and I don't want to be eating charcoal!"

Jon and Sam watched her go, standing in identical hands-in-pockets posture.

"She's a great person, y'know," Sam commented, choosing his words carefully. "I wouldn't want anyone to hurt her. Ever."

"Likewise," Jon replied, raising an eyebrow. This was definitely going somewhere.

The pair turned and looked at each other, then nearly jumped apart as they realised how similarly they were standing.

"Burgers?"

"Yeh."

As they headed up to the bbq, Jon decided that this had to be a case of all or nothing.

"So, I hear I look a bit like your dad?"

* * *

Back in the house, Mac was scrolling through the data file on 'Jonathan Murphy' with increasing sense of foreboding. His gut didn't like this, and he usually trusted his gut – even though he was more of a desk jockey these days.

"Y'know, we have a hell of a lot of information on this kid – why's that?"

It was Pete who replied, his voice amused. "Coulda told you that before you all went running. Mandy's got her eye on him, but was kinda put off when she found out he's as close to career military as you can be at that age. It's not like I ever saw a photo of him though, heh."

Mac had to chuckle – it was sad that Pete Thornton's glaucoma had robbed him of sight, but at least the guy wasn't wallowing. He had his life's work to get on with, and Amanda Belling was one of his best recruiters. The day-to-day running of the Phoenix Foundation was now left to younger men like MacGyver and Pete's own son Michael, but his experience as Director of Operations meant that he was the ideal person to seek new blood for the team. The fact that they'd unwittingly stumbled on a young man who looked a lot like one of the Foundation's most notorious operatives was almost funny…

"And Mandy never noticed?" Michael probed in amazement.

"At this stage she's just interested in what potential people have – looks are irrelevant, unless they have too many distinguishing marks," Pete reminded him. "I remember her mentioning that this kid had a reputation for making excellent snap decisions, a mature attitude, and good enough grades to get bumped ahead _and_ sent to grad school despite an obvious personal bias towards operations. It's like the Air Force is grooming him for something – and we didn't think we'd be able to shift him."

"Says here he has a problem with authority too," Mac remarked, his brow creasing. "This is a little… weird."

"Right, sounds a hell of a lot like you," Mike agreed from his vantage point by the window, watching the interaction between Sam and Jon Murphy. "Are you sure Dad didn't hit the nail on the head before?"

"Huh?"

"That you might have another mystery kid out there?"

Mac shook his head… slowly… "I hope not…" What had he'd been doing back in 1987? Who'd he been with?

"Kinda kooky that he has a place up in Minnesota though, isn't it?" Pete continued, tapping a finger against his lips. "He's a bit young for it, isn't he?"

"True," Mac scrolled faster to find the note in question. "Shared ownership with a Major-General J. J. O'… crap."

"What?" Michael asked. "Have you found something?"

"Oh yeh."

"Well?"

"Jack O'Neill – he could be a link."

The two Thorntons just shared a look and shrug. One day Mac might actually get to the point, but he seemed to be trying to wriggle out of it. Unsuccessfully, but still wriggling.

Pete asked the question first. "Who's Jack O'Neill, Mac?"

Finally Mac found what he'd been looking for – the 'family/relationships' section. "Crap, he is…"

"He is…?" the older man hinted, quite unsubtly and impatiently.

MacGyver sighed and sank into a chair, placing the XDA on a coffee table. It had been years since he'd thought about the guy, even longer since they'd spoken, and neither had had any need to do so after the family gatherings stopped. It wasn't like they'd gotten on too well in the first place, but now this? Obviously he'd have to talk to the kid, but did this mean he'd have to talk to Jack? Chances were the kid would mention him, and it was likely that Jack had talked him into the Air Force…

"You can choose your friends, but family? They can be a blessing or a curse, and you've got with them for life." Mac shook his head, recalling some unpleasant memories that he'd put behind him decades before. He turned towards his old friend and smiled wryly. "Jack's my cousin, on my mom's side. We never saw eye to eye as kids, in fact the complete opposite, and I haven't seen him since before my dad died. The file mentions him as Jon Murphy's uncle, and co-owner of the cabin up north. Could explain a few things."

Pete nodded sagely, while Michael carried on pacing.

"Could it? I mean, he could be your cousin's nephew but he could also be a plant of some kind – y'know, dig up a forgotten relative and build an identity around it. Fraudsters do it all the time!"

"I guess it's possible…"

"You're going to have to speak to this guy Jack –"

"I don't think so!"

"Why not? Have you got a good reason for avoiding him?"

Yeh, and then some, Mac muttered inwardly. It wasn't like him to make quick judgements like this, but then he'd heard that what you experienced as a kid could stay with you forever. He was assessing his cousin based on a 50 year old, unresolved rivalry – something he knew to be horrendously unfair – but the feeling of dislike was as strong as it had ever been.

"No, we just… didn't get on. Plus he's a General in the armed forces, Mike – I don't think anything would have changed," Mac laid it out, knowing that his argument was weak.

* * *

Outside, Jon was trying not to nit-pick about Sam's cooking methods. He was on thin ice already, he knew that, but there were far better ways to grill a burger damn it, and those chicken kebabs could be ruined! So much for the 'amateur' who had the tools before because this one wasn't much better…

Stuffing his hands back in his pockets, Jon decided to get back to the matter at hand. They'd already established that he did indeed look like the kid's dad (Jon still thought of anyone under 30 as a kid), but an awkward silence had been building up since then. Sam had the excuse that he was working, but Jon was turning every possible angle over in his mind… and it wasn't looking good.

"So, what do you do for a living Sam?"

"Huh? Oh, I'm a journalist – I spend most of the time overseas though," the guy smiled as he shuffled the fried onions, thinking that reporters generally scared those with something to hide. "Freelance as a rule. Just got back from a tour in Iraq, checking out what's left of the place."

Jon snorted, suppressing memories with humour as usual. "Yeh, I guess they bombed whatever we left standing…"

"Something like that…"

The conversation trailed off again, back into awkwardness.

Jon stuffed his hands in his pockets and took another good look around the garden. There were a few new faces since he'd arrived, and Lucy was chatting to a bunch of them. That meant that MacGyver and his band of merry men must still be elsewhere – and he had a _really _bad feeling about that. Not only that, but Jon was torn between trying to talk his way out of this and coming partially clean, at least to Mac. See, if Jon looked like Mac it followed that Mac looked like Jack – hey, poetry! But on a more serious note, while Jon didn't want to tell any civilian about the Asgard – let alone _Angus_ – Jack O'Neill was still a target as far as some people were concerned, and that could place his long-lost cousin on the wrong side of a bullet/zat/other potentially fatal weapon one day.

There was also the fact that Jon's background wouldn't stand up to a thorough check – at least not to a member of the family. As far as anyone else was concerned this Air Force recruit was the son of Donald and Carolyn Murphy, and he had the certificates to prove it, but cousin Mac over there would probably know that Jack never had a sister. And now his cousin had a journalist for a son, and had vanished with his friends the moment he'd turned up! This was just peachy!

"Did Lucy say you're in the Air Force?"

"Huh?" Jon had to re-orient himself, after winding himself up into a bundle of nerves. "Uh, yeh – they farmed me out for a while, probably too much of a trouble maker."

"Kinda young for that aren't you?" Sam wondered out loud. "Have you even graduated the Academy yet?"

Jon frowned. This really didn't bode well – those weren't the innocent questions of a tentative friendship. Still the truth was better than any lie, especially today. "No, but I spent a lot of time in the cadets at high school – went on junior exercises every break, even got sent to the Academy for a summer – so they bumped me up a year and decided to make up the rest by sending me to SFSU."

"Won't that tie you to them for years?"

"Well, yeh – but it's not like I want to go anywhere else."

Sam blinked. Kids – what he called anyone who wasn't a few years out of full-time education – didn't usually have such strong views about their future so early on, apart from the odd born doctor, and he said so.

It was Jon's turn to stand back and think, especially since his mouth seemed to be digging a hole right now.

"I guess you're right, but I just can't explain it. I know the Air Force inside and out, have done since I was a kid – my, uh, uncle joined up when he was 17 too – and it's what I want to do." He decided to throw in a little sarcasm. "This time in California is like a vacation for me, but it'll be hard graft once I get commissioned."

Sam laughed softly. "You never know, you might get an easy posting."

"Oh, I don't think so…" Jon sing-songed, then caught Sam's curious (in a very intense kind of way) look. "Everyone wants a return on their investment, right? So I'm gonna get a doozy of a posting."

"Mmm, fits." Sam nodded. It did make sense after all, but trust could come later. "So tell me about this uncle of yours?"

"Jack?" Ah, that old chestnut. What could he say about Jack? So many things – not all complementary of course, but it wasn't his fault that Loki landed them in this situation. One brief resume coming up! "Well like I said he joined up early, but I don't really know much about what he's done. Classified, or so he says. Made Major-General though, I know that much – got a big job in a department that doesn't exist. Haven't seen him for a few years now."

That's convenient, Sam thought in return. "Any other family?"

"Nope, not any more," Jon gave a genuine sigh. "They're all dead, one way or another." Apart from you and your dad, he added silently.

Sam shook his head. Wherever this was leading, he couldn't see it. Hell, this kid looked more like his dad than he did! He needed to see what his dad and the guys made of Katie's data… and now Lucy was coming back.

"Would you mind looking after the bbq for a while?" he asked, a simple enough question.

"Sure thing!" Jon replied, thinking that there might still be time to save those kebabs before the hit squad arrived. At least that way he could die happy. "Lucy!"

"Hi guys," the girlfriend in question called out in reply. "I got us all a beer! Hey, where do you think you're going, mister?"

"To find my dad," Sam apologised with a sidewise glance at Jon.

Lucy handed over the beer and frowned. There was still a definite atmosphere between these two - hadn't they finished with the chest-beating yet? She smiled sweetly, an instant message that she was not best pleased with her 'brother'. "He's in the living room with Pete and Mike, so you can fetch them a drink on your way through too, ok?"

"Yes mom…"

Jon took the last beer and clinked bottles with Lucy, then put an arm around her waist before Sam turned to go. It was childish, but what the hell. "See ya later, alligator!"

"In a while, crocodile…" Sam muttered under his breath. He really, _really_ didn't like this.


	3. Walking On Eggshells

Disclaimer: this is all a figment of my imagination, with certain key aspects supplied by older and richer people than myself.

Reviewers: thanks again!

Re: assorted minor characters. Basically Sam Malloy is Mac's son, Pete Thornton is Mac's friend and boss, Michael Thornton is Pete's son. Oh, and Jon Murphy is of course mini-Jack ('Fragile Balance'). There are a few MacGyver FAQ's floating around with more detail, but I can't figure out how to include the URL without making the text go weird... sorry!

P.S. Does anyone have a vaccination against plot bunnies?

* * *

Mac paced around the living room. It had just hit him that there was something very wrong about this Jon Murphy kid, despite the extremely detailed information about him, and as far as he could tell his cousin Jack was involved. In his experience, if something was too good to be true it probably wasn't. 

"What are you saying, Mac?" Pete pressed, not liking what he was hearing.

"I'm saying that this makes no sense, whichever way I look at it! If Jon Murphy is the nephew of Jack O'Neill, he's got to be the child of one of Jack's siblings, right?"

"Right," Mike confirmed. "Unless Jack got married and he was his wife's nephew."

"Yeh, but then he wouldn't look anything like me, should he? We wouldn't be blood relations."

"Ah."

"Exactly."

Pete interrupted them. "So from the sound of your voice I'd say that… Jack didn't have any siblings?"

"Bingo – we were both only children, born two months apart. I was probably nine when I last saw him," Mac snorted ruefully. "You'd have thought we'd be friends at least, but our moms had an old feud going that carried through to the pair of us. Even Harry didn't want much to do with the O'Neills – didn't like his dad for some reason. We never gave each other a chance. Let's leave it at that."

"So it's been what, nearly 50 years! Give the guy a break, Mac." Pete was incredulous – his friend was normally a fair-minded person, never one to judge a book by its cover. Obviously some wounds hadn't healed. "Maybe this'd be a good time to patch up your mothers' feud."

Mac pondered the issue, knowing that Pete was right – but unwilling to accept it. "He's career military, Pete. Somehow I think that means we have very different views on a few fundamental issues, don't you?"

MacGyver's attitude toward guns and violence was legendary: he had no tolerance for either, even when caught in a dangerous situation. He'd been drafted to serve with a bomb disposal team when he was 18, and making up an explosive on the fly was his speciality, while the things he could do with a Swiss Army knife and a roll of duct tape were too numerous to list – but guns? They were a complete no-no.

"Where does this leave us then?" Mike asked, worried about what this might mean for the Phoenix Foundation.

This was something that Mac didn't really want to think about, but talking to his cousin would be the quickest way to a solution. Suppressing a tide of childish resentment, he came to a decision. Pete was right. "Well this file does list Jack as the co-owner of Jon's cabin. Whoever he is, Jack must know him. Now we can either spend a few days digging, or we can ask the kid to play ball. Jack too. I'll… I'll talk to him if I have to. After I've spoken with Jon."

A silence fell on the room. None of them were used to Mac being so openly biased against what was a logical course of action, though it said something that he was willing to go ahead with it anyway.

"Ok, so first thing is to start tracking down Jack's phone number – work, home, anything. I'll ring Katie and get her going on that, and while we're waiting we can have a chat with young Mr Murphy. Is that ok by you guys?" Michael announced. "We can be as discreet as we need to be, and given the likeness I don't think anyone would object if we corner the kid for a while."

"Uh – someone want to bring me up to speed?" A new voice asked.

Mac turned and saw his son coming in from the garden. "Sam! So what do you make of him?"

The younger man perched on the edge of a coffee table and drew a long breath. What could he really report, after all?

"Jon Murphy, or whatever his name is, is pretty switched on for a kid of 20," he began, choosing his words carefully. "Dad, you always taught me to go with my gut – and my gut says that he's just as wary as we are. He didn't exactly back away from questions, in fact he asked about you before I could say anything –"

"Really?" Mac exclaimed, surprised. "What did he say?"

"Just 'so I hear I look like your dad', or something like that. I couldn't do much other than confirm it, but that was about all – we started talking about what I do for a living, his plans with the Air Force, that sort of thing." Sam shrugged noncommittally. "Like I said, he didn't back away from answering anything, but he wasn't exactly over-enthusiastic."

"Did he mention anything about an uncle?" Pete asked softly. "A General O'Neill?"

Sam span round on the table to face Pete, his dad's most trusted friend. "Yeh, yeh he did. Not by name though, just as an uncle who'd told him all about the Air Force – and nothing too, by the sound of it. Classified."

"Special operations," Mac guessed from the window, observing Jon and Lucy by the bbq. The kid did look a little too aware of his surroundings. "Jack grew up in a similar environment to me – the whole outdoorsy, living off the land type thing. It's not a giant leap of the imagination by any means."

"You know him!" Sam couldn't believe it. "How? Why didn't you say before?"

"I just found out, but Jack O'Neill is my mom's sister's kid."

"So Jon could be a cousin of sorts?"

"Heh… could, but isn't." Mac answered dryly, then ran through the problem of no siblings yet a co-owned Minnesotan cabin.

Sam saw the implications immediately. "The details fit, and there must be something to prove it otherwise the kid wouldn't be in the Air Force too – it'd be too obvious – but how, and why?"

"That's what we need to find out!" Mike chimed in, closing his phone. "Katie will get back to me as soon as she can, but her initial search shows that General J. J. O'Neill is definitely on the non-reflective side of the Air Force. Lotsa medals, but the details are as sketchy as hell."

"Sweet," Sam mumbled. "So I guess you want to meet Jon, huh Dad?"

"You betcha."

* * *

Jon knew the exact moment when the feeling in his middle coalesced into a solid ball of lead. 

He'd been turning a new set of burgers (having rescued Sam's damn-near burnt offerings and sending them to the buffet via Cassidy-Air), Lucy hugging his middle and whispering random notes about the people around them in his ear, when an all-too familiar voice drifted across the garden.

Geez… he thought, dread washing through him. If that isn't Jack, and I know it isn't because he wouldn't come within 100 miles of me, that has to be my brand new older me. As if one wasn't enough…

"Mac!"

Lucy fairly yelled in his ear before letting him loose and running off to greet the cousin he never wanted to see again. It wasn't anything to do with the idiotic (and occasionally dangerous) pranks they pulled on each other as kids, just the mere revelation that Mac had grown up to look far too much like… Jack. Himself. Either or. It made no difference.

Behind him he could hear Lucy dragging the man in question closer to the bbq, but an older voice with them suggested that they weren't alone. Someone with worse knee problems than he was doomed to inherit? Maybe, but his feet were glued to the ground as he concentrated on the grill – it might be childish, but he really didn't want to do this, not in the slightest.

"Jon! Meet Mac! You look soooo like him – it's unbelievable!" Lucy grabbed him round the waist and tried to turn him round, but he resisted just a moment longer. "Jon?"

"One second! That's all I ask!" He protested, trying to sound light-hearted. "I don't want to be known as the man of charcoal…"

"I'll relieve you, Jon," Sam interrupted smoothly, deftly plucking the bbq tools from his hand.

"Wha-! Uh…" Crap. Foiled again. "Fine, but just watch those sausages – they might flare."

It was obviously a case of unfair odds, many against one, but Jon wasn't John Wayne – he wasn't going to escape this time. The inevitable could not be avoided.

Putting on a brave face, he span round and wondered how like Jack this guy would look. Not much, and all might still be well – too much, and…

"Holy Hannah!"

It was a phrase borrowed from the love of his life, one Colonel Samantha Carter, but that's what she would have said if she was here – Jon was sure of it. The likeness was so great that it wasn't even funny.

The shock was mutual, with both Jon and Mac staring at each other with mouths agape. Pete wasn't much better, having known MacGyver when he was younger; not this young to be sure, but before this lad must have been born. Lucy stood by with a smirk on her face, while Michael frowned.

When it became clear that neither 'twin' knew what to say, Pete stepped in with a diplomatic introduction for all the new arrivals. "So, you must be the Jon Murphy we've all heard about. My name is Pete Thornton, this is my son Michael, you know Sam already of course, and this impolite statue is MacGyver."

Jon shook himself and broke the eye contact that locked he and Mac together. "Uh, sure – hi everyone. I, uh, I mean hell, Lucy said there was a likeness but this is freaky!"

"You can say that again…" Michael muttered, earning himself a glare from Sam.

Suddenly impatient with the aggressive pussyfooting going on around here, Jon fixed Mac with a look. They studied each other for moment before the younger man decided that if these people were suspicious, he needed to find out why – sooner rather than later. Time to watch for reactions.

"Y'know, you and my uncle Jack could use each other as shaving mirrors."

In the seconds after that comment, Jon knew that someone had already done some research – and that Mac, Pete and Michael all knew about it. All three of them visibly flinched, which could have been expected in Mac – but only Mac – especially to this degree. They had made the link to Jack, and they'd found the gaping hole.

MacGyver stood still and said nothing for the moment, thinking that Jon Murphy had probably learned more in the last few seconds than the three Phoenix men had put together from the details in his file. Pete and Mike, as well as Lucy, were all looking at him – waiting for a response.

"Jack, eh? That wouldn't be Jack O'Neill would it?" he ventured, wanting to see if the kid would stick to his 'cover'.

"That'll be the one," Jon nodded, his mouth twisted with indecision. He didn't like being here by himself, without back up, with four potential hostiles around him. Not that they were likely to kill or kidnap him in such a public arena, but he also didn't like having Lucy – who was oblivious to all this – so close to the brewing situation. "Jack wound up in the Air Force too, a General in fact. How 'bout you?"

His training and experience should, he hoped, be able to glean whether MacGyver was telling the truth on this one – if he answered at all. What made his cousin so suspicious? Some party this was turning out to be…

"Trouble shooter," Mac replied, sticking to the truth. If this kid was a plant of some kind, he would have done some research – that and Lucy would object or fill in gaps if she thought he wasn't being entirely honest. "I work for the Phoenix Foundation – have you heard of it?"

"Ah…" Jon breathed – things made a bit more sense now. "The research institute, right?" The SGC had actually used their translation services a few times while Daniel had been ascended, and they'd even tried filtering the odd 'technological breakthrough' into the open air via Phoenix's R&D section, but rumours surrounding Phoenix's operational branch were a dime a dozen.

"Do you all work there?"

"Yeah!" Lucy bounced in, feeling happy that a link between her father figure and her boyfriend had been found, but not so happy about the continuing tension in this area. "Pete used to be Director of Operations, but that's Mac's job now. That trip where you met Mom was one of the last times they let you out in the open, wasn't it?"

"That's right," Pete answered wryly, since it had been around that time that his glaucoma had become too serious to work around – at least in an Ops context. "And my blood pressure's almost back to normal."

"And what do you do, Michael," Jon asked pointedly. It couldn't be operations, whatever that meant in a non-governmental organisation.

Michael Thornton leaned closer, annoyed. He could see that there needed to be a confrontation here, one way or another, and he felt like this kid was playing them all while an innocent girl watched without a clue. "I'm head of internal security." Ironic, since he'd once breached it himself.

It was at that moment that Sam hopped back from the barbeque to announce that the meat was ready, though his face quite blatantly said 'did I miss anything?'

Jon snorted. "Keep your shirt on, Malloy. The party hasn't really started yet."

Lucy's eyes narrowed. There was definitely something more going on here.

MacGyver, on the other hand, shot a look at the younger kid and made a decision. He wasn't a confrontational man by nature, but this boil needed to be lanced. In private.

"Jon. Why don't we help the girls out here by collecting a few glasses and bottles from the gazebo?"

The young man glanced up the lawn to the suggested spot while Mac watched him weigh the options. No one would bother them in there, and cleaning up was a legitimate excuse to leave Lucy and the others behind… plus they could talk in there, alone, while retaining a good view of other partygoers.

"Sure," Jon nodded after a moment, though playing barman wasn't his idea of fun. "Maybe you could help Pete find a comfortable place to eat, ok Luce? We'll be back in a few minutes – I don't fancy fighting that queue for food just yet."

"Ok…"

Michael and Sam protested, but Pete voiced his agreement after a moment's thought. "Kids, give me a hand up will ya – there's a burger with my name on it down there."

A nod from Mac confirmed the arrangement, and after a reassuring clap on Sam's shoulder the suspiciously identical pair were alone.

Jon turned to his cousin, all smiles, and decided to start the negotiations with a bang – it was what he was known for, after all.

"So, what do you want to know, Angus?"

Mac's jaw dropped, while Jon trudged up the gentle slope to the gazebo.

"Don't worry, I won't tell anyone…" his voice drifted back.

Shaking his head in disbelief, Mac hurried after him and caught the younger man at the entrance. By mutual yet unspoken agreement they began to clear glasses, conversing in low voices interspersed with the clinking of bottles.

"So you do know Jack?" Mac asked, after a moment's thought. Best to start on solid ground, even if he had had little to do with the O'Neills for years.

Jon blew a playful note on a beer bottle. "Oh yeh, I know Jack. I know Jack _extremely_ well."

"How's he doing?"

"Like I'd know? We don't talk much."

"And you fit in where, exactly?"

There was a quiet snort of laughter at that question. "If I told you I'd have to kill you."

"Nothing like a little melodrama, eh?"

"When the moon's right, sure – but trust me, the only reason I'm talking to you is because looking this much like Jack is a bad thing," Jon explained tightly. "For both of us."

"And if you told me why, you'd have to kill me?" Mac followed the thought through.

Jon clicked his fingers in confirmation. "You always were a smart kid! Uh, at least that's what Jack told me." He fumbled a little and decided to change tack. "Look, I'm guessing that if you and your buds felt it necessary to run some kind of check on me – which you clearly have judging by their reactions earlier – and if it took you less than an hour to do so, you've got your fingers into a few too many pies as well. Am I right?"

The older man stood back a little, urging his body to relax. It was hard, because his adrenal glands were working overtime, and his heart rate was damned high for a Saturday afternoon. "Maybe."

"Maybe! What kind of ops does Phoenix run? The covert, illegal kind?"

"No!"

"Then what, Angus? What's gotten _you_ so worried?"

Mac's eyes narrowed. This was the second time Jon had called him by his first name, and both instances were obvious attempts to bait him. "You really are a lot like Jack, you know that?"

Jon's breath caught involuntarily. The man had hit the nail on the head, though he was damned if he was going to tell him why – at least not yet. "Uh, whaddaya mean by that?"

"I mean you like laying traps and playing with fire," Mac muttered, trying to figure out what to do. He was fighting a battle on two fronts here: on the one hand trying to talk to a mystery kid who knew a little too much for comfort; on the other trying to silence his years-old antagonism toward Jack, which seemed to be targeting Jon as a substitute. "That and you seem pretty good at making enemies."

"Touché – but given the fact that we're having this conversation, I'd guess that's a family trait," Jon observed quietly. "Am I right?"

Mac took a long, deep breath and considered this Jon Murphy kid in front of him. He was sharp, too sharp to not know the implications of what he was saying. He also had Jack's habit of being tactless on purpose, though he wasn't revelling in the responses he got; it was more of a tool for breaking the ice. With a ten-tonne sledgehammer.

"Look, I'm not going to trust you until I know what the hell is going on here – and if I don't trust you, things could get awkward," the Phoenix Foundation's Director of Operations stated unkindly, biting his tongue too late.

Jon shrugged. "I already have a job, and they won't sack me in a million years. I could even deal with not finishing grad school, if you want to be that petty."

"Petty? You've admitted that you're a dangerous person to know, and yet you're having a relationship with an innocent girl!" Mac answered, his voice dangerous. Messing with kids was a cardinal sin in his books, even if another kid did the messing. It had been like that since he was a kid himself… when other kids like Jack had teased him for being a pacifist with his head in the clouds.

It was Jon's turn to flare, and the light in his eyes told Mac that he meant every word – and could follow them through. "I didn't drag Lucy into anything, and we're barely counted as a steady couple. I do care about her though, as a friend as well as a girlfriend, and if anyone hurt her I'd – well I guess I'd come down on them about as hard as you would on anyone who hurt her mom."

Stalemate. Neither one of them wanted to give way, and both carried secrets that could damage each other, but they didn't trust easily. They didn't trust easily, but they were afraid that someone would get hurt if they didn't.

Then Jon's cell phone rang.

It was a classic ringtone, the music that always seemed to hang around Darth Vader during the _Star Wars _movies (which Jon had finally watched, though as far as he knew Jack had not). It reminded him of his place in the universe: getting rid of snake-headed aliens.

"You gonna get that?" Mac asked eventually, sensing that Jon wouldn't pick up otherwise.

"Nope. They can leave a message," he replied flatly. "Plus I need to make a call myself."

"You do?" the other man inclined his head questioningly as the phone beeped its notification of a missed call.

Jon nodded. "Let's call Jack, shall we?"

"He really does know who you are?"

"Does a bear shit in the woods?"

"I'll take that as a yes."


	4. Still Waters Run Deep

Disclaimer: this is all a figment of my imagination, with certain key aspects supplied by older and richer people than myself.

A/N: Sorry for the delay! I had a bunch of chapters pre-written, but have suddenly decided to make a large plot detour. Believe it or not this should mean getting to the fun stuff sooner rather than later!

* * *

**Inevitable Exposure**

**Chapter 4: Still Waters Run Deep **

Jon frowned darkly as he dialled the number for Jack's home in Colorado Springs, concealing the sequence of numbers from Mac and hitting the send button with undue force. Four years – _four years – _without the slightest need to 'phone home', four years of dodging the awkward questions and sticking to his perfectly viable cover story, until one sunny day this bozo comes along and upsets the apple cart without the slightest by your leave. Didn't he realise that covers were usually there for a reason, and that when you recognise a cover the last thing you do is blow the damned thing? And he said he was some kind of operative? Great!

Scowling at the aforementioned bozo, Jon brought the cell to his ear and listened to the phone ringing, half-praying that no one would be home. The last time he'd called this number there hadn't been, but then he had been leaving a message for himself that time ("pick up Cassie at 9am to go skating – don't forget or the Doc will take a _really_ long time with the next check-up"). Belatedly he realised that it wasn't even him dialling that time, but the other Jack – the _original _– well before he'd been a twinkle in Loki's test-tube. He'd almost gotten used to not needing those memories over the last year, away from the Air Force, here in San Francisco…

"Hello?"

The voice caught him unawares, but he recognised it immediately. Carter. Sam. Mrs O'Neill. He fumbled for a reply, but the words caught in his throat as he identified the background noise as a toddler's burble. Oh God… they had a kid. Kids?

"Hello?" The voice seemed impatient now.

Kids were great. They were. But the thought of a kid belonging to Jack O'Neill and Sam Carter threw Jon Murphy into next week.

"Jon?"

This voice was heard from the other side, and he turned on reflex to see Mac standing a couple of feet away with a concerned look on his face.

"I'm going to hang up now," Carter warned in his other ear.

Finally his tongue worked its way loose. "Wait! Don't hang up!"

Waving Mac away irritably, Jon waited hopefully for Carter's reply. She hadn't put the phone down, but what must she be thinking? Trust him to ruin first contact… but then it was in the genes: Jack had always clammed up when things got personal too. Getting them together must have been a feat of epic proportions. Daniel, Teal'c, Janet, George, Jacob – they would have all been in on it.

"Who is this?"

Breathing a sigh of relief, Jon decided to pace himself this time. "It's Jon. Jon Murphy?"

Please, please let her remember… great, now he even thought like a kid.

"I'm sorry, I don't know anyone by that name."

Her tone was clipped and professional, in sharp contrast to the infantile gobbledegook in the background. Kid was probably practicing Mommy's technobabble to skip a few grades. And speaking of 'Mommy'…

"Carter, you _do_ know someone by that name. Now would you please put his Lordship on the line before I start reciting a 4-year old IDC?"

Dead silence. Had he blown it? Oh, joy. The patented O'Neill/Murphy diplomacy strikes again.

"Four years?"

"Yes Carter, four years. And if it helps, thanks for tidying up the cabin – I've been trying my best, but it always seems tidier than I left it. That's not Jack's style for sure – I should know."

That was the best he could do? Jon winced internally, realising how completely indifferent that must have sounded. Not a 'congratulations' in sight, though she deserved several – she was a full-bird Colonel now, and married, with at least one kid. He sucked. But then that _was_ Jack's style, and therefore his.

He looked over to Mac, whose expression was now what they called stony, and came to a decision. "Carter, I'm sorry. I'm an ass. I thought I'd grown out of it, but I will probably always be an ass. You tell me."

The kid burbled in the background some more before Carter had the grace to reply – but at least there was a trace of one of those trademark smiles in her voice. "Jon, if Jack is anything to go by you will always be an ass."

Grinning himself, he replied, "In that case you deserve a Congressional Medal of Honour for putting up with him."

"He makes me one out of bottle tops every year for our anniversary."

And suddenly, it was all too weird again.

"Uh, Carter…"

"I'll go get him," she cut him off, presumably recognising the signs of an O'Neill-style emotional shutdown. "Do you want to tell me what this is about?"

"Sure, if it'll bring him to the phone any quicker," Jon replied, winking at Mac (who was leaning against the gazebo, arms folded and foot tapping). "Just mention swings, roundabouts and a little kid called Angus."

"O…k…."

"Trust me, he'll know what I'm talking about."

He could almost hear her nodding on the other end of the line. "Be right back."

"Thanks."

Glancing over to his cousin, Jon smirked. The guy was looking even more shocked than when he'd called him by his first name. Almost as shocked as their parents when they'd caught their young offspring on a specially constructed swing that hung over a ravine. As for the roundabouts… that escapade had given them matching broken wrists. School should never have mentioned centrifugal and centripetal force to either of them.

"He told you about that!"

"Mac, cuz…"

"You have _got_ to be kidding me!"

Jon held a hand up to Mac, effectively halting the conversation.

"Jack?"

"Who else? I repeat – kidding?"

"Not kidding. Standing right next to me, not kidding. Looking just like you, not kidding."

There was a short silence. "What?"

Jon looked upwards in annoyance. "Give me strength – Jack, you heard me the first time and you _know_ that I wouldn't even consider calling you if I could possibly avoid it."

"And there I was thinking that my memories left you relatively capable in life," was the muttered response.

"Hah, hah, very funny – cut the crap," he replied bluntly, glaring at Mac as a substitute. "Much as I love to hear your dulcet tones, we have a problem here. Your favourite cousin just did a trace on me in about 30 minutes, while at a party on a sunny Saturday afternoon. I'd say that means he has a shovel and is not afraid to use it."

"Good to hear you too, mini-me," Jack's sarcastic reply grated against his hard-won individuality. "We leave you alone for one year and the shit hits the fan? Fantastic."

"Lap it up, _General_."

Jon could almost hear his counterpart's eyes rolling. "You don't think he'll back off?"

"Is there an echo in here?"

"And he looks like me? How close?"

"Looked in a mirror recently?"

"And you're sure it's really him?"

"Oh yeh."

"Crap."

"Now we're cooking…" Jon rolled his eyes. "Look, he's missing a few scars and the hair's not exactly regulation, but close enough. Do you want to speak to the guy? Because he's not going to take my word for it and I kinda like my life the way it is."

There was an exasperated sigh from Colorado Springs, though he was sure it was just for show. Jack kinda liked Jon's life the way it was too – a gazillion miles away from him. Trust some relative to mess it up.

"Ok, give him the phone."

On the other side of the gazebo, Mac had been observing the conversation via Jon's body language. It said a lot about the kid, and what he thought of both Jack and whoever Carter was – presumably Jack's wife, though it wasn't exactly a common name for a woman. When Carter had been speaking he looked like he was continually kicking himself, or perhaps he was embarrassed? It was hard to tell, but as soon as Jack had come on the line his entire demeanour had changed. It became more confrontational, with a straight back and a biting tone in his voice, although defence seemed to be as much a part of the package as attack. How much did that say about Jack?

Finally Jon fell silent and held out the cell phone expectantly. "Your turn, buster."

A wry smile on his face, Mac took the phone and pondered what to say. It had been nearly 50 years, after all, and they hadn't exactly parted on the best of terms… but now he'd somehow stumbled into a family conspiracy that wasn't about to be shared willingly.

"Hi Jack."

"Angus?"

Mac blinked. It was like hearing his own answer phone message – a slightly different accent, but definitely him. Maybe they really were that alike. "It's Mac – don't you remember how much I dislike that name?"

"Sure, like a hole in the head," his cousin replied. "What can I do ya for?"

"You could start by proving you are who you say you are."

There was a pause. "Ok, how do you suggest I go about that?"

Mac thought a moment. "What was Harry's favourite dish?"

"Fresh bass cooked over some chicory. 'Course that did tend to mean buying the bass from a more successful fisherman, but what's a minor detail between friends? Next!"

The other man raised an eyebrow at Jon, surprised by the brevity of Jack's reply – like he really didn't want to think about it. Get the job over and done with, then get out. "Why didn't you come to his funeral?"

Jon's eyes widened in surprise, almost alarm, and he shook his head rapidly while drawing a single finger across his throat.

"Otherwise engaged. Don't go there."

Jack's voice was terse, and Mac received the message from both parties loud and clear. This was not something that either would share willingly, and if Jack had been Special Ops there could be any number of unpleasant reasons for that.

"Ok then," he continued, backing away from the previous topic but not wanting to be put off just yet. "What's the best way to break your collarbone?"

To his left he could hear a snort of laughter from Jon, and even Jack let out a small chuckle in his right ear. Curiouser and curiouser.

"Mac, I think it's safe to say that the most entertaining way to break a collarbone is – in hindsight! – by being a stupid kid who doesn't know when to say no. Oh yeh, and having an equally stupid cousin who has just as little sense, and who – I seem to remember – had the crazy idea of running along a tin roof _during a hailstorm _in the first place!"

"Hey, that was your idea!"

"Me? I don't think so!"

"You were the one who watched TV all the time," Mac pointed out.

"Ok, well whichever of us thought that one up doesn't matter any more – are you convinced yet?"

Mac nodded for Jon's benefit as he replied. "Yeh, I think so. So who's this kid?"

"Jonathan Murphy. USAF Cadet, due for graduation this year last time I checked, and somehow wangled his way onto a Masters course – Lord only knows how he pulled that one off."

"Try again."

"Can't tell you that, buddy. Sorry."

"Classified?"

"Something like that. And digging won't do you, me or him any favours – especially him. He fell off that particular radar a few years ago, but for a while there was a chance that someone might pick him up," Jack sighed, probably considering how much to tell him. "That and we got on about as well as you and I did, so it was easier to stay away even when the danger passed. We even allocated ourselves different months when we could use the cabin – which came from my other granddad, by the way."

Mac pondered this, unsure why they had retained any link at all if there had been a danger. But then he realised that Jon had already given him the answer: they were too alike, and given the kid's Air Force ambitions they could hardly pretend to be unrelated. Jack had never been one to keep in touch with family (as demonstrated by the need for this conversation), so a 'nephew' he didn't know was less of a bargaining tool than a close friend. They had to be father and son, and the personality clash was just an excuse to maintain the illusion. That was the only explanation he could credit, and it would explain why Jon acted older than his looks. Forced separation from a living family had to be twice as hard as losing a parent to death, a pain that Mac remembered from his own childhood, but since it seemed so important to the pair he decided to take what they were telling him at face value.

"Ok Jack, I'll take your word for it," he declared, eyeing Jon's relieved expression as he did so. "But you're sure that no one's after him these days?"

"As sure as I can be! What is it with you and the suspicion anyway? Did he sleep with your daughter or something?" Jack paused, then returned with a hint of concern. "Please say he didn't?"

Mac's mouth twisted in a smile as he debated whether to milk this situation or not, eventually deciding not to. He'd only just regained contact with a long-lost cousin, and antagonising him wouldn't do his new (and apparently unavoidable) relationship with Jon any good. "Nah, but close. He's dating my partner's daughter."

There was a snort from the other end of the line. "Figures. Well, no need to be worried – he's… uh… he's the least likely kid to mess her or anyone else around, let's put it that way."

"Really?"

"Oh yeh," his cousin muttered, though there was a trace of pride in his tone. "The Air Force grapevine had him down as a protector of geeks and women's rights back at the Academy. It'll take me years to shake those rumours. Right up your alley though, I should imagine?"

"Depends on how he goes about it," Mac replied wryly, settling down on a bench. "So who's Carter?"

Jack's voice took on the distinct tone of smug happiness. "That would be my wife, Colonel Samantha Carter. Also one of the world's most brilliant astrophysicists, I'll have you know. You married?"

"Never," Mac shook his head emphatically. "I'm not the marrying type. I have a son though; his name is also Sam. Well almost – his mom named him 'Sean Angus Malloy', but he prefers his initials."

"Like father like son, huh?"

"On the odd occasion." Mac passed a momentary eye over Jon, then decided to ask the next most obvious question. It might not get him anywhere, but then maybe it would. "You got kids?"

His cousin paused, heightening Mac's curiosity. "Yeh, but not what you think…"

At this point, Jon decided to make a break for it. Judging by Mac's sympathetic expression he already suspected what many had before, that Jack was his real dad – oh, how wrong they all were. That and he really didn't want to hear one-half of a conversation about how great Jack's life was these days, however good it was to see that they could patch up those little differences of yesteryear. He could get his phone back later – it didn't look like he was about to be run out of town just yet, and after such a nice chat with his older counterpart (not!) he really needed a beer. All hail the non-snake headed gods that Lucy's mom believed in a European-style drinking age, at least in her own backyard.

Standing up straight, he waved to Mac before pointing out at the garden and was relieved to get a nod in return. Not that it mattered, but it was nice to know that the guy wasn't going to lay any more charges – and if he and Jack were going to start talking about that toddler, Jon wanted to get away before he wound himself into a depression. Maybe he'd be able to talk Sam and the other goons into releasing Lucy back into his custody now… or maybe he should wait for Mac? None of them had trusted his 20-year old face before, so that wasn't likely to have changed. But on the other hand, he now had the perfect blackmail tool to use against Sam – or should he say 'Sean Angus'?

Smiling evilly, he set off down the garden in search of a verbal punching bag.


	5. Can't Teach An Old Dog New Tricks

Disclaimer: this is all a figment of my imagination, with certain key aspects supplied by older and richer people than myself.

A/N: I apologise in advance for what may be a couple of very slow weeks for me – it's the end of the tax year so my creative brainpower is being suppressed by accounting (ugh), plus my mum-in-law is staying with us during her very first visit to the UK :)

* * *

**Inevitable Exposure****Chapter 5 – Can't Teach An Old Dog New Tricks**

After their chance meeting at the Cassidys', Mac tried his damnedest to get closer to his newfound cousin – or at least to find out more about him as a person. He'd had a good conversation with Jack that day, but it hadn't escaped his notice that Jack shied away from all Jon-related topics – in fact he'd told Mac to drop it several times. Mac, on the other hand, didn't buy it. Ok so he wasn't going to disobey 'orders' by poking around Jon's obviously constructed background story any more, and neither would anyone else he knew (despite Sam's continued misgivings), but if Jon Murphy was intent on dating Lucy Cassidy he had every reason in the world to discuss him when meeting up with her mother.

From what he could tell, Jon was not bad for 'his' girl in the slightest – he was just a bit of a loner. The kid had an obvious habit of isolating himself from the world, and if he wasn't studying or out with Lucy he seemed to be out at Travis Air Force Base. Logging flight time was Mac's guess, but that didn't take much imagination. He lived alone and had enough money to not need a part-time job – a legacy from his 'parents', or an Air Force stipend? From Jen's reports he had an odd taste in music (for his age at least), preferring 60s/70s bands and even classical opera, something Jon himself had put down to a dislike of white noise (as he apparently called most modern music). And last but not least, he drove a beaten up old truck that no one else was ever permitted to touch. Practical, but again a little weird for a kid of his age.

In all this research though, Mac still hadn't found a way to meet Jon again. He had visited San Francisco a couple of times, and stayed at Jen's place, but the kids were always either out or returned too late for the cousins to cross paths. Avoidance was definitely high on Mac's list of suspicions, but when they finally met again… well it wasn't exactly the most predictable of moments.

Then again, given Mac's history, maybe it should have been.

* * *

"You want me to what?"

Mac gave up pacing inside his houseboat and made his way to the roof. There was something about Jack Dalton's phone calls that set him on edge these days, and it hadn't taken long for his nerves to start tingling.

"Trust me, Mac – this isn't one of my usual mad ideas. I'm just freeing up some capital by selling the plane," his childhood friend assured him. "Ya hear that? I'm selling the plane, which means no more crazy escapades."

"Right…"

Jack's enthusiasm continued despite Mac's evident disbelief. "I mean it!"

"And what exactly are you going to do for money once your 'capital' is gone?" Mac probed as he inspected the tubs that made up his small vegetable garden.

"Well I'm thinking of setting up a flight school –"

The other man rolled his eyes.

"– and maybe fly some tours to make up the difference. I'd only need a small plane that way, cuts the overheads something amazing."

"I thought you said no more crazy ideas, Jack…"

The other man was indignant. "What's so crazy about this? Look, all I'm saying is that I've found a potential buyer. This could be my baby's last flight with me, and I thought you might want to say goodbye along with me."

Mac sighed. Once upon a time he would have gone along in an attempt to keep the guy out of strife, because his get-rich-quick schemes attracted trouble like the proverbial moth to a flame. Not the 'engine running out of fuel' kind of trouble, but the 'near death experience' variety. Mac's experience as a trouble-shooter meant that he usually managed to get them out of the fire before things became life threatening, and every time he did he swore that he'd never listen to Jack again… but some how it just kept happening.

"Ok, so you're selling the plane?"

"Yes."

"You're going to settle down and take perfectly normal clients on perfectly normal air tours?"

"Yes."

Not for the first time, Mac wished that he could see Jack Dalton's left eye right now. It always twitched when he lied, or lied by omission.

"When, where and how long for?"

"You'll come? Mac, that's great – I mean it's so fantastic. We're gonna –"

"Jack, I did not say I was coming!" Mac interrupted. Some people never grew up. "I need to know some useful details, like when you're flying, where you're going, and how long this trip is going to take?"

It was the other guy's turn to snort. "You're a director now Mac, you can take as much holiday as you want."

"Yeh right, don't you believe it," was the lacklustre response, backed by mental images of an overweight in-tray. "Details, please."

"Thanks Mac," Dalton replied with a grin in his voice, and Mac realised that he'd been won over – _again_.

* * *

So it was that two weeks later, Mac found himself in the co-pilot's seat of Jack Dalton's old rust bucket. They'd been flying for an hour or so, heading for an airstrip in the Nevadan Rockies. It wasn't a long journey, and so far everything had gone just as Jack had promised.

Looking over at his friend, Mac decided that it was time to ask the question that had been weighing on his mind ever since he'd arrived at the hangar labelled 'Dalton Air' earlier that morning. There'd been a bed in the office, take-out boxes littered around the workshop, and judging by all the tools and other mechanical accoutrements lying about the place he guessed that Jack must have fixed up the plane himself.

"What happened to your apartment, Jack?" he asked, woefully certain of the answer.

"Couldn't keep up with the rent."

Figured. "And selling the plane will change all that?"

"Yep."

Suddenly Mac wondered exactly how much these potential buyers were willing to pay Jack for his 'baby'. He'd taken took a look in and around the plane, giving it a layman's inspection, and despite the shiny new paint finish he could still see the numerous welds and replacements that Jack must have done over the years.

"Looks like you've spruced her up nicely," Mac commented, tapping a couple of the dials in front of him. "What're they paying?"

"Enough," Jack stated smugly. "More than enough in fact, but the extra will cover the cost of getting us back to LA."

Mac nodded absently. The buyers had offered a lift to the nearest rail station if satisfied with the plane. "How long to go?"

The pilot checked his instruments. "Not long at all. Let's see if we can raise them on the radio."

"It's their own field?"

"Nope, just one used by the locals time and again."

Abruptly Mac's nerves started tingling again. It sounded simple enough, and he'd watched Jack's left eye enough to know they guy had told him everything he knew about his potential buyers, but when his nerves started tingling like that he tended to listen to them. Or was he just getting anxious in his old age?

Jack put the radio back in its holder and turned to his friend with a grin of anticipation. "Ding dong. We shall be starting our descent in five minutes time. Please put on your seatbelt and return your seat to an upright position."

His friend laughed nervously to cover his misgivings. "Every landing is good right?"

"Only crashing is bad," Dalton completed the phrase. "But don't worry about that – they say the wind's low on the ground and the runway's level."

"Ok…"

A short while later, Mac stepped out of the plane and took in his new surroundings. From the air the mountains had seemed as rocky as their name, and it wasn't much different at ground level. They were still with the forested regions though, and the scent of pine and wildflowers was present on the breeze. This was part of the reason why Mac had eventually decided to come (or so he told himself), as it had been a long time since he'd had the chance to visit some real mountains.

"You must be Dalton?" A loud voice asked, rough with the signs of smoking.

Mac spun to see a middle-aged man in a flannel shirt and jeans, woodchips vying for dominance with the checked pattern beneath. He stuck out a hand. "Name's MacGyver – I'm just along for the ride."

"Smith."

"Good to meet you." They shook hands. "Nice place you got here."

The man grunted. He clearly was not a people person. In fact, looking around the airfield Mac got the distinct impression that none of these potential buyers were very social. It was a small strip that obviously wasn't used much, its only permanent structure being an ancient windsock. Presumably Jack had contacted Mr Smith here in his truck, parked off to one side with a second man leaning against the bonnet. What disturbed Mac the most was the distinct lack of a hangar, let alone an av-gas tank. Where were they going to store the plane, or refuel it?

A series of dull clangs sound heralded Jack Dalton's arrival, his boots being far too heavy for any kind of stealth.

"Morning! You must be Mr Smith?"

"Mornin'," Smith muttered, enthusiastic as ever. "See you brought a friend."

Jack clambered down slowly and shook the guy's hand, grin ever-present. "Mac's an old friend of mine, came to say goodbye to the old bird with me. Man, I'll be sorry to see the back of her."

"Mind if we take her for a ride?"

Dalton smiled even more broadly, a born salesman (if not a very successful one). "Straight down to business! I respect that." He ran his hand along the plane's underbelly with obvious pride. "Why don't I give you a quick tour first? What you're getting here is –"

"The ride?"

Mac raised an eyebrow. He wasn't an expert on airplane sales, but he'd bought plenty of vehicles in his time – trying before buying is always recommended, of course, but trying before even looking? That was jumping the gun a little, and yet again his nerves began to jangle a warning.

Jack meanwhile, was eyeing his potential buyer with a sly look on his face. "Ok, Smith – I like your style. Step right up. But, uh… there's only two seats. Mac, would you mind waiting for us here?"

The man in question frowned, half-formed suspicions clogging his thought processes. "Are you sure that's a good idea, Jack?"

"Sure," his friend replied nonchalantly, clearly missing the hint. "There's enough gas in the tank, and who am I to pass up another 'last' flight with my girl?"

"You can wait over by the truck," Smith added helpfully, though his smile wasn't so kindly. "Cooper there'll keep ya company."

"Will he now," Mac muttered. "Jack, mind if I get my things from the cockpit?"

His friend shrugged. "Sure thing, I'll come with you."

Relieved to have a moment alone with Jack, Mac climbed back into the plane and headed straight for the co-pilot's seat where he'd left his bag. Years of habit meant that he'd brought his usual kit with him – nothing excessive, but useful in an emergency – and somehow he was glad that old dogs found it hard to learn tricks. Then again, he backtracked as Dalton rustled his way into the cabin, if it wasn't for certain other old dogs and their equally old tricks he wouldn't be worrying about this trip at all.

"How much did they offer you, over an above the asking price?" he hissed angrily, keeping his voice low as he checked the hold behind his friend. He didn't want Smith to know what he was thinking.

Jack held his hands up in mock surrender. "I told you! Enough, but not too much. They need the plane, and I need to get rid of it. Everyone wins!"

"Oh right, and the fact that this couldn't possibly be their home strip doesn't make you wonder?"

"Huh?" Dalton faltered, but had an answer ready. "Mac, I already knew this wasn't their 'home strip' as you call it. This is a halfway point, saves time for everyone."

Mac churned this over, but it didn't alleviate his worries. "Why couldn't they have picked a public airstrip then? This is just a little too isolated, y'know?"

"What, and pay landing fees? Nah, this is fine Mac – trust me! I stopped the wheeler-dealing a long time ago, and this is just a normal bring-and-buy sale."

Shaking his head, Mac looked out of the window and saw that Smith and his friend Cooper – whose muscles bulged in all the scary places – talking by the main door. It was clear that Jack thought he was being over-cautious, but those nerves wouldn't stop tingling. Even his gut was joining in now.

Slinging his bag over one shoulder, he fixed Dalton with a serious look and grabbed the other man's shoulder. "Jack, I'm going to give you the benefit of the doubt and pray that I'm wrong – ok? I'll wait quietly with Cooper down there, but you promise me that you'll be careful."

"Scout's honour," his friend replied lopsidedly.

"Do you know where the emergency parachutes are? And the flares?"

"Geez, you really are up in smoke aren't you? Yes and yes – safety equipment is one of the few things I wouldn't dare scrimp on, not after our little adventures," Jack stated with a scowl. "And no, I still don't think you're right – all I'm saying is that my plane, which is soon not to be my plane because I'm selling it, is perfectly safe."

The pair glared at each other for a moment before Mac nodded and shuffled past Dalton and into the hold. "Just watch yourself."

"Will do."

Back on the grass, Mac stood by Cooper (who was just as communicative as his friend Smith) and watched Jack prepare for take off. Two thumbs up from the pilot and away they went, taxiing up the runway and lifting off with apparent ease.

"Let's hope the rest of the trip goes that smoothly, eh Cooper?" Mac joked to the other man, hoping to make a rapport.

The other man grunted, much as Smith had earlier.

Mac shrugged and glanced back at the vanishing plane. He still couldn't shake his unease, so decided to put his contingency plan into action. "Anywhere to take a leak round here?"

"Trees."

"An environmental man, I like it," he grinned in response, but still no rapport. If Smith was anything like this, Dalton would go nuts before they returned. "I'll be back in a moment."

He jogged to the tree line and chose a suitable bush, keeping an eye on Cooper all the while. The need for a leak was definitely not a ruse, but it was a convenient excuse to drop off the bottom half of his backpack. It zipped free and had a strap of its own, containing his more precious kit: Swiss Army knife, duct tape, a box of paperclips, twine, an Allen key and a few odd chemicals in film cases. Mac made sure the bag was completely concealed within one of the bushes and took care of his own business nearby, figuring that he could retrieve the items with a similar excuse later on. If, on the other hand, he didn't have an overactive imagination, his kit was ready for use… just in case.

Just in case turned out to be the right idea.

Back at the truck, Mac saw Cooper returning a radio back to the truck. "What's up? All good news I hope?"

"Oh yeh," Cooper replied, tripling his known vocabulary.

He smiled at Mac over the truck's cab, and suddenly Mac realised that the other man's hand was still inside the vehicle. Instinctively Mac rolled sideways and down, sheltering his body behind the vehicle, but realising too late that the extended cab left him vulnerable. A tranquilliser dart shot through from the driver's side window, behind the passenger seat and through the back window on the other side: straight into Mac's left arm. Desperately Mac plucked the dart out of his flesh, but his vision was already getting foggy. That was some dose Cooper'd given him. He tried to focus on the line of bushes and calculated that he would have no chance of reaching them before the drug took him.

Sinking to his knees, Angus MacGyver groaned and wished that he'd been wrong – just this once – and was helpless to resist as Cooper tied his hands and legs up with what felt like plastic cable ties. Then Cooper picked him up with only the slightest grunt of effort and unceremoniously dropped him into the back of the truck. Drugged and trussed, Mac landed what felt like a pile of bricks and found it very hard to shuffle away from the sharp corners. His muscles were sluggish and uncooperative, but fighting the pain as best he could he chose a smaller goal and tried to rub a cable tie against anything that might be able to slice it. All he gained was a few more cuts to his wrists from both the contents of the truck and the ties themselves. Eventually the pain and the frustration became too much: his eyes rolled into the back of his head and he passed into semi-consciousness.

* * *

A jolt to the truck woke Mac up with a shock. He blinked in confusion, his mind still fuzzy as hell, but his myriad aches were clearer now. Reluctantly he decided that he was too old for this.

Movement was as awkward as he remembered, and the bricks he'd landed on were just that: bricks. No handy sharp edges to be found, only dust in his eyes and corners digging into his back. He tried to look around and above him, but saw only sky and a bright sun overhead – at least he hadn't been out for too long then, one bright thought at least – and another jolt to the truck showed that they were still on a rough, dirt road. Headed to the same place at wherever Smith had taken Jack Dalton and his presumably hijacked plane? Probably, but the mountain range was huge. They could be anywhere.

Another jolt rocked the truck and Mac groaned out loud. How much more of this was he going to have to take? But then he noticed a grubby hand reaching round the tail of the truck, followed by the unmistakeable clunk of one of the rear bolts being slid free. Someone was trying to get him out!

Several bumps and a couple of minutes later, the other bolt also slid free, causing the tailgate to drop with a clatter. Mac worried for an instant that Cooper might have heard, but it had been timed to coincide with a jolt – that, and the truck was now headed up a slight incline. Cheering internally, Mac willed his drugged muscles into action and used gravity and the bricks at his back to shuffle towards his escape route. Shame whoever had opened the gate wasn't around to give him a hand, but that might make things a little too obvious to Cooper if he happened to look in the rear-view mirror.

One more bump was all it took in the end. Mac was close enough the edge by this point that the truck's hard-as-nails suspension bounced the rear wheels into the air, taking him with them, and when he came down again he clipped the tailgate itself on his way to the ground. The truck drove on, oblivious for now, leaving Mac winded and bruised beyond anything he'd encountered in recent years. He was still hogtied and helpless, and he still didn't know whether this rescue was good or bad, but a rustle from the bushes signalled that whoever had aided him was still there.

"Hello?" Mac croaked, still trying to focus his eyes and unable to rub out the brick dust.

"Shh!"

A green-clad figure scooted into the road and fed one arm through Mac's knees, using them as a loop with which to drag the rest of his body. It hurt something awful, but was the best that either of them could do under the circumstances, and his rescuer didn't stop at the tree line either. They were a good 30 yards from the road when they stopped and Mac risked opening his eyes again, having closed them to fend off twigs and stones. The path they'd taken from the road would be clear as day to anyone with tracking skills, of that he was certain, but footfalls into that direction made him wonder if the mystery man was hiding the trail or watching for Cooper and his truck.

Panting, he rolled on one side and made himself as comfortable as possible (which wasn't very), listening for any clues of what might happen next. Eventually he heard a soft tread in front of his face, and grudgingly admitted that when this person wanted to be quiet they could do a very good job indeed. Mac looked up to see a pair of legs clad in khaki pants and combat boots, but anything above that was hidden by the glaring sun. There was a silhouette, and that was all.

"Who –"

"Quiet!"

The other man crouched down below the bushes and looked outwards until satisfied that the danger was not going to follow, then shuffled back towards the prone MacGyver and flicked open a pen knife. Leaning down he began to saw through the cable ties binding Mac's arms and legs behind his back, working quietly and efficiently to keep the plastic from biting into his wrists and ankles any more than they already had. Finally Mac was free, his first action being to roll over and massage his damaged limbs. His liberator was still seated with the sun at his back, quietly observing Mac with his legs crossed.

"What am I going to do with you?"

"Excuse me?"

"You call this a desk job?"

Mac blinked. He still couldn't see the face, but he recognised that voice. He didn't want to because the implications scared him, but he did.

"Jon?"

The younger man chuckled. "Yeh sure, ya betcha."

* * *

A/N: yes, I have tacky bad guys and I don't care – 'MacGyver' excelled at tacky bad guys, just look at Murdoc! Now, would anyone like to guess what the hell Jon is doing out there? 


End file.
